


often

by peachist



Category: Les Twins
Genre: Frottage, Lapdance, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 19:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachist/pseuds/peachist
Summary: “No hands,” Laurent says, his lips pulling back in a graceless sneer, “You touch me, you lose.” The spark is ignited, and the challenge has started. Larry returns the sneer with a retaliatory glare and a prideful flash of teeth.“Quoi que vous disiez, princesse.”





	often

From across the studio floor, the air is heated with tension as a fire smolders. In one hand, Laurent is thumbing through their extensive playlist for the right song to set the mood, while the other idly tugs his twists from their tie. His jacket hangs forgotten on his elbows to be later addressed; a job started three steps too soon, born from a rush of defiance that is now the flick of his thumb.

Back to the near-vacant room, he steadily ignores Larry for the time being. He sits, growing impatient, on a chair in the epicenter of the floor like a centerpiece. The neglect is not born out of malice, even if the expanding silence between them starts to feel like tortue. Confined to the seat, all he can do is watch Laurent with narrowed, nervous eyes. His hand finds the thick, metal bands on the other and wrings them in an anxious habit. In the back of his mind lays the knowledge that his brother wouldn’t let anything stop him from a chance to prove he was right, no matter the tactic.

A selection is made, the hair tie is plucked out with a practiced flick, and the jacket is shrugged off at last. With a second thought, Laurent reaches over and dims every light save for the one beaming above Larry. Always the one to nitpick and perfect, it faintly amuses him at the effort put into everything before Laurent has even started.

He allows himself a cursory look over Laurent as he turns to address his audience. The jersey he brandishes is his most beloved: simply black with white accents and bold lettering. Clinging tight to his thin frame beneath the jersey is a plain black shirt with negative space for sleeves and a snug collar. It matches well with the distressed white jeans he wears, the shreds of the material expressing the juxtaposition of his caramel skin. The ogling is returned- gaze drifting over his person, eyeing where his hands hide in his sweatshirt pocket to the cradle of his lap for a moment shy of too long.

It almost goes unnoticed, the gentle breeze ruffles his clothes in a preening shift and carries a hint of ash on its wings; hinting a fire on the horizon. “No hands,” Laurent says, his lips pulling back in a graceless sneer, “You touch me, you lose.” The spark is ignited, and the challenge has started. Larry returns the sneer with a retaliatory glare and a prideful flash of teeth.

“ _Quoi que vous disiez, princesse,_ ” he bites with caustic humor, betraying his sarcasm as his arms raise up and his hands find the metal barring of the chair’s back. Blood boils at the satisfied grin his brother gives him, feeling close to erupting when he flicks his twists over his shoulder in a pompous manner and he turns on his heel with an air of triumph. Their dominant sides clash often, and each little victory is a chip out of the other’s pride.

The music loads after a few, heavy moments of nothingness, an awkward limbo stretched between both of them before a long, harmonious note fills the room. The speakers hide the skitter of Laurent’s phone and the sound it makes as it connects with the mirrored walls after enjoying it’s slide across the floor. There is no buffer for expectations to form; the only thing Larry can do is steel himself and sit still.

**_(Seneler sürer her günüm)_ **

Laurent comes alive all at once, his mind shutting off as though a switch has been flipped; his attention pours into his person. His hips swirl smoothly, his weight rocks from one heel to the other and his rings clink sharp and jarring as his belt clips against his them. It draws Larry’s attention in a seamless sweep upward through the path his hands draw, releasing his belt to drag up his lithe frame and behind to rest on the nape of his neck. Laurent is a master of his trade, unfaltering as each beat is met groin-first with a fiery passion that catches inside Larry’s stomach.

**_(Yalnız gitmekten yorgunum)_ **

Mentally, he swears at him for his dirty tactics and he curses his composure for betraying him; how his eyebrows shoot up and his trained scowl slackens in favor of focus. Laurent’s jersey is pinched at the back of its collar and stripped off him, the offending thing gone in one, clean pull. How Larry is affected so by the simple flip of Laurent’s dreads out of his eyes after the shirt clears his head, such a simple, mundane action, he will never understand. Yet he sits there, unmoving, with his veins running hot and heavy. They scorch the skin above them, his face flushing a cherry red as his eyes force themselves upon the quick flash of skin that is exposed when the tank top clings to the jersey as it leaves. Doubling over, Laurent tosses the shirt to the side and lets his hands fall to his belt.

**_(Seneler sürer her günüm)_ **

The grip on the chair’s back tightens in a battle of anger and weakness as Larry throws him a sly grin that flashes a pinched tongue between remiss lips. Before Larry can take his eyes off the quick glimpse of his teasing tongue, Laurent is moving, too fast to catch it all: there is a sudden jerk of one hand, a twitch of the other, and his left hand profitably bears the head of his belt. Like pulling the strings of a puppet, he falls onto his right knee as the worn leather stretches between his arm and body one inch at a time. It’s a single thread gradually unravelling Larry as he shyly pulls his knees together to hide how his cock stirring in his jeans. He would rather perish then let his brother know how far under his skin he has made a home.

**_(Yalnız gitmekten yorgunum)_ **

Not once has his hips stopped their sinful show. They swivel easily in lovely circles that garner Larry’s interest and, without the aid of a belt to embargo, aching ideas. Loosely, his arms swing to his sides and his head is tipped back with a sleazy roll. He can hardly silence the thoughts that race when his thumbs catch in his loosened waist band, the weight of his hands baring the thin fabric of his gray boxer briefs. The tongue that shared a fleeting glimpse of itself earlier shows itself as it drags over Laurent’s top lip, slow and deliberate to earn a rise out of Larry. Despite the efforts to downplay the effects of Laurent’s spell, Larry can’t stifle the bob of his adam’s apple as he banishes the dryness in his mouth nor the heavy set of his jaw as he tightens his mouth into a thin line of indifference. A deep breath has to be collected to restrain himself further as Laurent’s lips pull into a relaxed grin and he winks, acknowledging the slip.

**_I usually love sleeping all alone_ **

When his palms strike the studio floor, Larry can feel it through his spine in a shiver. It creeps up his spine as slow as Laurent does. The way he stalks across the studio floor is nothing short of graceful. Larry can admire how he crawls effortlessly, how his shoulders roll with each inch forward, how he keeps his head dipped and eyes up. There is a challenge hidden beneath the curtain of hair he flicks back with a practiced motion, inviting Larry in as it reveals itself.

**_This time around bring your friend with you_ **

Rising up, the fire licks at his feet and he has to let him. Laurent brings himself to his knees upon reaching Larry’s, rising with an air of smothering confidence and sexuality. This close, the intensity that burns low inside him is mirrored evenly no matter how underplayed by the obstinate will of Larry’s; determined to burke his instincts out of responding and reacting as Laurent settles his claws into his prey. His hands come up to rest on his knees, serving as nothing more than a paperweight, as they were pinched together with subconscious nerves and the gracing contact reminds Larry of where he is. He forces his body to ease up, to let the tension escape him no matter how crushingly tight his fists braced the metal back.

**_But we ain’t really going to sleep at all_ **

Palms resting on his knees, Laurent’s dark and smoldering eyes didn’t plead with him as a lover would: he _demands_ that he open his legs, ordered with a language that only they could ever hope to speak. His eyes share a fondness coupled with unwavering love for his twin that can only compliment the weighted hunger that eases between Larry’s legs. He feels as though he is Narcissus and Laurent is his pond. Allowing himself space to fit, Laurent only guides his thighs wider open before he settles on gripping the metal seat’s edge. The raw, overt emotion geared towards him knocks his breath away, and Larry struggles to gather it again.

**_You ain’t gonna_ **

The seat scrapes the floor polish as the chair is forced forward in a display of control. The abrupt invasion of space brings Laurent’s face tantalizingly close to his belt. Larry’s gasp catches in his throat, his whole person tensing up as his mouth falls open with his eyes. He gawks as his twin straightens into the space of his spread legs, his heart pounding away in tandem with the beat. Laurent finally tore his clouded gaze away from Larry’s soul to eye the line of his fly. In those dark depths, fire crackles greedily; lust kindling a mutual need deep between them.

**_Catch me with those_ **

That much closer, Laurent abuses his free reign of the familiar body. His hands find their way to Larry’s thighs, blanketed with stiff denim, and the seam that rides both ways. Slowly, Laurent’s index finger coasts up the heavy stitching, and his open palms burn the skin beneath the clothing as they press and knead at him in their travel. Heat rises to Larry’s cheeks as his grip mocks the one on his person, swallowing the primal urge to spread his thighs out into the contact; too stubborn to admit defeat so soon. His nerves buzzed beneath the surface, already keyed-up and receptive despite how often Larry threw half-baked glares and silent curses at the source of his predicament.

**_Sneak pictures (sneak pictures)_ **

The gasp that choked in his throat leaves him all at once as Laurent, ever rhythmic, yanks his hips forward. Suddenly, he finds himself lightheaded. It brings him to a slouch, his hips jutting forward and his groin bared through outspread thighs. Suddenly, it’s as though he doesn’t wish for the extra contact and finds the building urge to close his thighs away from those hands and shield himself. A hair’s width separates the metal button of his fly and Laurent’s parted lips. He is sadistic in the way he soundlessly laughs, breath knowingly hot and glorious against his zipper. Larry blesses the overpowering volume of the studio’s speakers as a soft, reclined moan leaves him.

**_In my city, I’m a young god_ **

There is no relief for him as Laurent taunts him with a dubious eyebrow, taking in the subtle roll of his throat that echoes past his sundered lips. While he doesn’t catch the hushed sound, he feels it through his hands as they nudge their way underneath Larry’s shirt. His fingers wriggle under both layers of clothing until they reach the feverish skin of his stomach, fanning out and dimpling the tender flesh beneath his finger tips. Goosebumps cover the areas of exposure where the warmth of his clothing is stolen and Laurent’s hands don’t compensate. He doesn’t surrender an inch between them, staying put between Larry’s legs and taking him in at his leisure. Where he touches, he observes how his muscles ripple in quick, shallow breaths.

**_That pussy kill be so vicious_ **

Neither of them would deny being skinny, as the prominent hip bones and defined v-line give away. Laurent’s palms find their way to settle on his waist, minding the hem of Larry’s jeans (or rather, ignoring them to tease a few fingers past), and stall. Through the stretched peace of stillness that feels comfortably heavy on his frame, he takes a peak down. It’s the cue Laurent was counting on, as when his eyes drift their way back down, he is pinching at Larry’s love handles and watching how his eyebrows knit together in a moment of exhilarating pain that forces his eyes to flutter shut as it passes. The reaction is worth the wait, and Laurent allows himself a indulgent grin as pride swells inside his chest- _he_ did that, he made his twin’s teeth grind and eyes roll back. When Larry gets ahold of himself, Laurent is looking elsewhere, and there is a habitual twinge of frustration at that.

**_My god white, he in my pocket_ **

He stiffens and straightens up when Laurent’s right hand burns down his outer thigh, easing into the crease of his knee in a long, torturous draw. The lingering sense of discontentment is dispelled and another flickers to life; a burning suspense born by those deft fingers. Laurent chases them, rocking on his heels to reel his head back and leaving Larry with breathing room. Whether it is appreciated now or not, he can guess from the indecisive way his lips settle between a frown of resolved impatience and torment.

**_He get me redder_ **

Knee slipping over Laurent’s shoulder with a nudge, Larry feels laid out bare with his sweatshirt clumsily folded over itself and body circumstantially frozen. An odd embarrassment floods his face and creeps down his neck in a blush; one he doesn’t familiarize with these acts. He is voluntarily made helpless and vulnerable by a mirror between his legs, and the knowledge of their mutual understanding about Larry’s unquestioned cooperation likes to come by and remind him. The wolf scenting him can smell the shame stick to his skin, winking and flashing his teeth as his lips turn in. Laurent mouths at the inside of his knee with a hungry grin that screams salacious and daring- a combination Larry knows too well in his twin.

**_Than the devil_ **

His resolves cracks, he shows his belly, and he digs the heel of his left shoe into Laurent’s opposing shoulder where it lay. This wasn’t his hand, therefore this doesn’t count. The mischief in Laurent’s eyes melts away to rivalry, his smile still dangerous and pliant to his leg. The threshold of risky has been long since passed in their little games, and that does nothing to deter either one of them.

**_‘Til I go_ **

Anticipation worms it’s way down Larry’s spine, Laurent turning cheek and redrawing the seam with the edge of his mouth. Openly he pants, Larry overriding what censors he had built up as he now, unabashed, lets his desperation be known. The fire that kisses his thigh melts away his cold, dour facade and burns his passive interior irreparably. A weakened noise builds in his throat, pushed by a rough breath with prospect.

**_Nauseous_ **

The weight never lifts, not even at the filled crease of his jeans. Laurent places a bated kiss to where Larry’s cock sits, those eyes hunting down his own; he can only breathe under such a simple look, forced still as much as his body wants to avert his gaze, to shield his shame from the source. Satisfied that his attention has been arrested, Laurent goes in for the kill. That pink tongue flattens and wets the rough denim on front of him, and his body presses forward into the bittersweet kiss. It’s more than just a quick slip of the tongue- there is a force behind it like Laurent wanted to break him with the soft muscle. Larry’s hands abandon the chair’s back to fumble and fist his sweatshirt, lifting it up and out of the way in favor of covering as much of his flustered face as possible.

**_Ask me if I do this everyday, I said:_ **

With a parting push, Laurent grins wolfishly as he rises to his feet. Larry’s foot drops, and his hips roll without restraint. With no threat of losing their challenge, he indulges himself. The friction of dampened denim against his straining cock grants him minimal relief. Rather, it only stokes the fire; the hard-fought ounce of pleasure not enough to satisfy anything. His glare hardens as he follows Laurent’s moves.

**_Often._ **

He stalls at the back of the chair, out of Larry’s line of sight. Slowly, a hand creeps over his shoulder and drips down onto his chest. The other threads through thick curls and takes root in his afro.

**_Ask how many times she rode the wave,_ **

Fingers tense and fist in his hair, pulling his head back with a harsh tug. It hurts, but his jaw drops with a groan and his head drops with it. Laurent revels in the open-mouthed reaction of heated surprise he elicits before his grip turns soft. The liberty from his discomfort makes his body go lax, eyes fluttering open to find Laurent’s staring down at him with an appetite for more. His gaze burns the already heated flush on his cheeks, but he is too far gone to try and pry his stare elsewhere. He’s drunk off the attention, letting his head loll to the side with a dopey grin.

**_“Not so often.”_ **

The smile tugs his wetted lips as Laurent gently nudges his hands down from his chest to allow enough room to work. Skin and fabric are divorced by Laurent’s hand, the cold steel of his rings forcing gooseflesh. The palm coasts down the flat expanse of his chest, and when a few nails grace the surface, Larry’s back arches into it. The warmth is gone as he nudges the rule. His reprimandation forces a full-body shudder with the dual sensations of desire and loss.

**_Bitches down to do it either way_ **

A little frustrated, maddenly hard, his head rolls forward as Laurent rounds the side of the chair. It’s a prowl, surveying his territory, stalking his prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. Larry grows impatient with his display, brazenly adjusting himself with a pronounced roll of his hips. The sudden tension across his groin forces a hiss from clenched teeth, the pain of having fleeting friction where he needed it most is a worthy trade-off when Laurent’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow and his head visibly wrenches away from where his eyes wanted to stay.

**_Often, baby I can make that pussy rain often_ **

Where he stalls, his knee settles in the little room provided by Larry's thigh in the chair. With the seat so small and confining, Larry cannot move away as Laurent leans on his knee, invading his precious space. Larry swears, torn between ripping his eyes away from the body lurking dangerously close to him or keeping his gaze on the display to prove just how much it doesn’t affect him. There is no room left for rational thought as the rest of his headspace is occupied by the fluid rolling of Laurent’s hips once more. His hands find the bottom of his tank top and he slowly pulls it to his chest, presenting the sweat-sleek skin of his stomach. His heart jumps into his throat simply looking at the glistening droplets of sweat, his teeth worrying his lip as his lust-addled brain tries to get him to lean forward and _taste._ Before his resolve could crumble, the shirt falls into place and Laurent has braced his opposite arm on the back of the chair.

**_Often, often- girl I do this often_ **

If it weren’t for the sudden weight of Laurent adding to his, Larry would’ve tipped the chair over with how far he was leaning back trying to create some space- any space- between him and Laurent. Spinning on his knee, he had swung his other onto the seat beside Larry’s opposing thigh, and the hand he was bracing himself on slides forward. Rather, leant against his elbow, his erases the attempt of space between them. Wetting his lips and swallowing his tongue, Larry fails to find a proper breath when Laurent’s hand creeps across his chest, playing and kneading the fabric of his sweatshirt. It feels as though his heart leaps into his hand, chest so light and face so hot he feels as though he is going to pass out.

**_Make that pussy poppin’_ **

This close, he can feel Laurent’s breath to his, every fiber of his being urging him to lean forward and capture those familiar lips with his own, but he sits there frozen in place like a deer in headlights. He can only admire Laurent’s beauty for what it is in its own right. It spells danger with braids spilling over just one side of his face and masking it in shadow; his intense look- with chin tilted down, lips parted in a pout, and dark eyes on his- was all further emphasized. Without prompting, Larry moves his head to the side to expose the stretch of his neck for Laurent as he closed in. He mouths at his throat as if he were starving- his tongue flats and tastes the sweat on his skin, and his teeth graze the surface of it. It thrums at the attentions with a deep breath, Larry humming his pleasure. Somewhere, a voice pipes up to question: _is this cheating?_

**_Do it how I want it, often, often_ **

Lap full of Laurent, he has no clue what to do with his hands. First, they tighten where they are in the chest of his sweatshirt, but he finds that too close to the hand that Laurent tortures him with- so he drops them into the cradle of his lap. Subconsciously, fingers fiddle with the fly of his jeans as teeth pinch the tendon of his neck.

“Did my jeans not taste good enough for you?” he teases, but his voice hardly raises above a mumble. The twinge of pain makes him tense up and shift, his cock stressing his jeans and reminding Larry of its existence. Grinding the heel of his palm against himself, he lets a meager moan that falls beneath Laurent’s rebuttal.

“Just thinking about dessert.”

**_Girl I do this often, often_ **

For a moment, Laurent’s hand drifts south as if he wants to take up what Larry has started; his lone hand bumping against Larry’s when he tries to find a way beneath his layers. He leans back with a cross look that makes Larry’s ears burn with shame. Instead of swatting them away, Laurent stops him from withdrawing his hands entirely by catching his wrists and pulling them towards him. Cheekily, he forces Larry to slide his hands up his thigh to rest on his cut waist in such a way that his fingertips grace bare skin.

There’s a moment where Larry’s mind goes blank as his hands are pressed against Laurent’s body for him. Because the touch was not voluntary and was orchestrated by Laurent himself, Larry finds himself frozen with fire licking his palms. Laurent’s body feels like it’s too hot beneath his touch, threatening to burn him as he swivels his hips in slow, sinuous circles. When he can’t bear to look at those eyes of thunder and lightning any longer, he watches how that deft body settles fully in his lap and grinds against his belt.

**_Make that pussy poppin’_ **

With the added force behind his hips, and with the mutual presence of pleasure, Larry’s gaze is drawn to his lips. They hold a cruel moan that strikes deep in Larry’s groin, and he curses the knowledge that Laurent has above him. He knows how Larry likes his moans strained, broken, letting the raw effects of Larry’s touch be known through the knitting of his brow and the drop of his jaw; a way to stroke his ego and stoke the flame.

Automatically, Larry’s hands are ripped away from Laurent’s person as though he were shocked. In his flustered surprise, he slaps a hand over his mouth to hide his agape mouth, while the other falls short; fisting the collar of his sweatshirt and drawing it to his throat. The sudden bashfulness is endearing, and Laurent laughs breathlessly as he shifts about.

**_Do it how I want it, often_ **

Laurent wriggles in his lap, trying to position just right. Larry holds his breath as Laurent’s body presses flat to his own as his feet hook the chair’s back legs. There isn’t much time to adjust to the warmth of his twin to his chest as he peels away and takes Larry’s last resolve with him. Slowly, Larry relaxes and pulls his hands away from his face to hover awkwardly between them as there is space created.

Effortlessly, Laurent uses the leverage on the chair’s legs to keep himself from spilling out of the chair as he leans back. His elbows rest on Larry’s knees, holding his upper body proper just to watch how Larry’s eyes drift with a hazy need. First, they try to focus on his, lingering before they drop to the small stretch of exposed skin when Laurent’s shirt rides up as he leans back. It’s there for his viewing pleasure only, the faint abs of Laurent’s stomach rippling- tempting his clueless hands. The whites of his eyes flash, and he can only let out a flustered sigh when Laurent’s hips dance in his lap.

The slow display of trusted vulnerability haunts Larry because he knows that if he wanted to, even if Laurent won’t let him, he can reach out and touch him. The tautness across the front of Laurent’s distressed jeans outlines his hard-on perfectly, and Larry wants nothing more than to take advantage of him and just squeeze the familiar weight. Touch him in the ways that will make him blush in that particular way that is so different than the rest.

**_Infatuated by the fame status_ **

He caves.

The last straw was when Laurent’s head tipped back to parade the confident column of his throat for Larry, out of reach. The last straw was when Laurent’s hips ground down just right, forcing Larry’s cock to glide against the crease of his boxers where his jeans had slipped far enough down where it didn’t matter if he was wearing them or not. The last straw was when Laurent groaned, loud and deep within his chest, _“Larry.”_

He caves, letting his hands find their way up and down those powerful thighs. Laurent startles, the abrupt touch shocking his system and encouraging him to sit up yet before he can, Larry has a solid hand on his chest to keep him down. He leans forward just to make sure Laurent can’t get upright when his free hand slides across Laurent’s groin.

“H-hey,” Laurent protests, voice shaken. All of his focus is ripped away from the music, from the rhythm of thumping bass. He wasn’t expecting the sudden confidence in Larry, as he was caught off guard by it in its entirety. The hand finds the solid presence of Laurent’s erection and squeezes; a rough but fair punishment for his teasing. Abusing the vulnerable position, Larry doesn’t fear the consequences of breaking the single rule Laurent had made for him- he cannot simply get up and walk away to leave Larry blue balled now.

Between groping and petting at his cock, Larry finds infinite pleasure from watching Laurent squirm. The stimulation makes him jerk against his weight, gasping and glaring at the hand of his destruction. From the start, it had all been a game of cat and mouse, one Laurent intended to fail through Larry’s own faults. With a groan, he stops resisting the force keeping him down, fully inclined to take what he has brought upon himself. The adrenaline of the chase already pumping hot through his veins does nothing to help him keep away from the edge and the longer Larry tortues him, the closer he is to becoming undone.

Laurent swears, his whole person shivering with the pulse of pleasure that shoots up his spine when his back arches into Larry’s touch. It leaves burns in its wake that heal over into invisible scars that give aftershocks long, long after they are done. The groan attached quickens Larry’s heart- the sound so distinctly _him_ that it is enough to make his mind blank for a moment as the gears shift. With a renewed urgency, he struggles to work Laurent’s button and fly open to free his cock.

He watches as Larry finally manages to open his jeans and find his erection, now sitting tall in his grasp. His touch burns against his raw skin, and he can feel his cock throb with need as Larry takes his time to admire in reverence. Where precum dribbles down the side, he sweeps his thumb over the head to clear it off. There is a curious hunger markedly different from his normal appetite. It shows in how he plays with his food, knowing his control, his dominance, his methods. The way Larry works him in his hands is too perfect, the way he watches for his reactions with heavy lidded eyes is too heady.

Laurent struggles upright, body weak from butterflies and nerves, to offer some help of his own. While Larry works him in his hand, he goes for Larry’s belt. It’s painstakingly tedious, trying to steady the excited shake of his hands long enough to undo the belt and unbutton his pants- and it felt like Larry was trying to make it harder for him. He pushes forward into Laurent when he drew near, fervidly mouthing at his jaw and neck. Lips feel soft to his skin, but the gentleness is downplayed by his sharp biting.

Finally, Laurent manages to strip Larry of his belt and get him from his pants. Larry hisses against his skin as he feels Laurent close around him, but refuses to divorce from him; the free hand goes to the nape of his neck and slides into his twists to pull his head back, exposing the column of his throat for his taking. Laurent doesn’t hold back, fucking Larry through his tight fist with quick drags as Larry bites at the terribly sensitive point of his pulse. The struggle of stubbornness between them rages for a few short moments before Larry finds a compromise: bringing Laurent closer in his lap to slide a hand around both of their cocks.

Effectively stealing control over pace, Laurent surrenders into him. Collapsing into Larry’s shoulder, he can only squeeze his biceps and sigh shakily as he braces himself to look in their laps. Larry’s fist works over the heads of their cocks, his pace steady and slow. Laurent feels how his hand is tacky with their shared precum and how the space between them is almost too hot to bear. Larry doesn’t bother to look, his eyes happily closed as he showers every part of Laurent that he can with attention. Most of his attentions are on Laurent’s flesh, careless as he suckles hickies into the muscle of his neck.

His pace picks up as Laurent’s moans jump in pitch. They jump up, from throaty groans to all out pants and even whines. Through it all, Laurent was already close to coming; hips rocking into his hold. Larry, however, has started to pant raggedly, hot breath tickling his neck between each sinking kiss. Letting go of Laurent’s twists, the hand stumbles trying to find the collar of his shirt to pull aside, determined to mark up as much as Laurent as he can- true to hickies and bruises and bites. The stitching pops the more Larry pulls down, dead set on finding a comfortable spot for his claim.

Tearing at the collar, ignorant to Laurent’s later anger, he hardly gives a warning before he bites the crook of his neck _hard._ It’s hard enough to bring a tear to his eyes, and his whole body shivers at the overstimulation. Just the perfect amount of pain mingles perfectly with the mutual pleasure, and Laurent’s rocking stutters as he comes.

Larry’s pace doesn’t ease up even as he pulls away from the new bruise to finally take in the sight; Laurent’s cum slicks his hand and stains the black of his jeans. Now, he whimpers- high and frantic- as Larry milks him for what he’s worth before disregarding his overstimulation for his own end. It doesn’t take him long, not with the pleading sounds in his ear and rough pace set by his own hand. He growls, feeling Laurent shudder as his teeth grace his shoulder as if he was bracing for a bite. The pretty reflex of a learned submission makes his growl drop low in his chest, the knowledge being burned to memory for later exploit.

They both ride out Larry’s orgasm until their breathing has evened and their minds have cleared enough. Leaning back just enough to take Laurent in, he can’t help but to feel smug. Laurent’s shirt is destroyed at the collar, his throat looks mauled, the black fabric in the front is strained with cum, and he looks angry.

“My shirt.” Chuckling at the deep-set scowl on his flushed face, he goes to press little kisses to the corners of his lips and jaw as Laurent continues to act cold.

“Don’t be like that,” he coos, trying to appease his angry twin. Nothing. The fire has seemingly gone out in its entirety until Larry nuzzles his ear and just barely squeezes him with one hand, “I’m not done with you.” Laurent softens minutely- still pissy, but pliant.

**Author's Note:**

> “Quoi que vous disiez, princesse,” / "Whatever you say, princess."  
> song written to: often / the weeknd


End file.
